Selfish
by TStabler
Summary: A One-Word-One-Shot. When a man is finally able to act on certain impulses, needs, and desires, he faces an internal battle. Does he keep those urges at bay and fight them? Or does he allow himself to be a little selfish? E/O Rated M


**A/N: The word given to me was "Selfish," and so he is.**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

He opens the door, she closes it. They're silent as they step into the room and they see their luggage has been brought up, and is set in front of the bed.

One bed.

"Um," he says, scrubbing a hand down his face, noticing the error. "There's gotta be some...mistake."

"The NYPD is cheap, El," she interrupts. "We're adults, I think we can share a bed for two days. Or I can get really sick tomorrow, throw up on the commissioner and get us kicked out."

He laughs and tugs off his suit jacket. "Right," he says with a nod.

There's a moment of silence, and he is staring at her, a far off look in his eyes, though she's so close to him.

"What?" she asks, folding her arms.

"You look really pretty," he tells her. He wants to brush her hair behind her ear, toy with the diamond bauble in her lobe, but he doesn't. He can't. It's times like this he wishes he were more selfish. "Beautiful, actually. You are...beautiful."

She smiles at him, though her brow furrows. He's never said that to her before, not like that, not like he really means it. "Thanks," she says, warming as the soft tone of his voice and the compliment echo in her ears. She tosses her small beaded bag onto a chair and moves to the nightstand, picks up the phone, and dials a few numbers.

He waits, and he watches every move she makes. He memorizes the curves of her body in her dress, and he licks his lips as he pops the cufflinks of his shirt. Maybe it's time, he thinks, to be a little selfish.

"Fin?" her voice cuts into his thoughts. "You guys...oh, yeah," she snorts. "Us, too. But I can see why you're a lot more upset than we are about the...no, yeah, just ask for a cot or something. We're right next door if you need a floor or..." She looks at Elliot. "He hung up on me."

"They have to share a bed, too?" he asks, and he knows his body is moving but he doesn't know why. He's in front of her, right in front of her in seconds. "Poor them." And his hand swipes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers tug lightly on her earring.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice dry. She's never been quite so close to him, and she likes it a little too much. She narrows her eyes and moves, trying to get around him.

Without speaking, he presses his body into her. He's breathing hot and heavy against her nose. He touches her thigh with his left hand and he moans when the sparks ignite beneath his fingers.

"What the hell are you doing?" she pants, her nerves rising. She gasps when he slides his hand up the hem of her dress, and she whimpers when he pulls the fabric of her panties down. They hit the floor, she kicks them off, but her words betray her actions. "This isn't happening, Stabler."

He smirks, he kisses the end of her nose. "Yes, it is," he laughs. "No one's stopping us now," he says. "I can't stop this now, Liv, I...tonight, with you, it felt like we were..." he drags his hand back up her thigh and inches it closer to the warmth between her legs. "It felt like a date. A really good one."

"Yeah," she breathes, nodding as memories of a boring day at a domestic violence and sexual offense policy seminar fade into memories of a night spent laughing, smiling, dancing, and drinking with her best friend. "I know. But this is…"

"Wrong," he finishes, though he doesn't back away. He slides his fingers along her folds, feeling them slick and hot, and he chuckles. "Damn," he says softly, and he looks into her eyes as he pushes one finger into her, making her moan.

She knows he's still married, legally, but his behavior doesn't shock her. It's his timing that does. "Why now?" she asks. "You could have…we could have…shit, El. Why did you wait so long? Why now?"

He pushes a second finger deep into her, twists them around, and trails his lips over hers lightly before they land on her neck. "I'm..."

"Drunk," she assumes, shaking her head. "We shouldn't be...oh, God," and the thought flees as he sucks on her skin, a spot that gets to her. She's always thought of him as the type of man who would fuck anything that moved, or at least anything that made his dick twitch the way she knows she does, if he could. The way he works his fingers into her makes her certain that he's had more experience than he lets on, but she chuckles, knowing that she is really only the second woman he's ever touched like this, and this is all just natural talent he's displaying.

His teeth are gnashing into the side of her neck, his thick fingers are thrusting into and out of the hottest, tightest tunnel they've ever explored and for some reason he feels the need to qualify. "Liv, trust me, I don't do things like this. There's only been this, right now, with you, since I got..."

She moans, out of need to let it out and the desire to stop him from saying the word "married" because it's bad enough she's breaking every personal rule she has, she doesn't need to be reminded of the moral laws she's breaking.

The sound makes him harder, he bites deeper into her neck, he adds another finger. "Take me inside you," he whispers against the purple mark he's left on her otherwise flawless body. "I need to be inside you."

She moans again, his words turning her on, scaring her, and making her nervous. It isn't supposed to go this far, it isn't supposed to feel this good. It's supposed to stop. He's supposed to realize what he's doing, what he's risking, and leave. She shakes her head, but grips him tighter, her mind, heart, and body in a three way fight. She knows what part of her is gonna kick the others asses.

"I'm not drunk," he relays to her, a thrust of his hand punctuating his words. "I want you. I want this. So do you, I've got the proof all over my fingers, baby." He smirks at her.

"Asshole," she mutters. She's not sorry. He's an asshole, she knows that. She rolls her eyes when he thumbs over her clit and she nods. "You win."

He can't get out of his suit pants fast enough, his left hand still buried in her depths, and he forgets how they got to this place. He only knows he never wants to leave. Not now. Not ever. He rips his fingers from her swollen center and tugs off his tie with his right hand as he sucks the fingers of his left. He moans at her taste, and his eyes darken.

She is jelly. She is mush. She finds the strength to move, somehow, and peels the dress over her head. She tosses it to the side and looks at him, and fuck, she's proud that he's gone dumb. His slack-jawed expression tells her all that time in the gym pays off. "I'm not gonna stop you, Elliot," she breathes. "You were right. I want this." She wraps a hand around his neck. "I want you."

He chuckles, a sick and twisted laugh of victory and menace, and he presses her into the wall. He slams his mouth into hers, he lets his dick, throbbing and more rigid that it has ever been, rub teasingly between her legs. He's proud of his weapon, and he wants her to know it.

She moans as she feels his thickness slide along her slit as they kiss, and though it's up against a wall in a cheap motel in a bad part of the city, she begs him. "Fuck me, Elliot," she purrs into his ear, her tongue laps at the outer rim as she speaks.

"No," he whispers back, biting her bottom lip and tugging it backward.

She looks at him, curious, then she knows. "Make love to me, El," she corrects. "I need you inside me, make me cum, make me yours."

He nips at her lip again and his large, rough hands lift both of her legs around his waist. He plops her on the nightstand and he looks into her eyes as he splays his palms on her thighs and thrusts hard, fast, sheathing himself inside of her.

They both see stars, they both let loud cries fly, he curses loudly and hears her mumble something vulgar in what he thinks is Hungarian. "I don't wanna move," he moans. "God, I never wanna fucking move from this spot," he grunts.

"Move," she demands, "Or I will fucking shoot you!" She wiggles her hips a bit which reminds him that she is dying a slow and painful death on a shoddy nightstand.

He looks at her and chuckles, then moves. Part of him wants to be slow and gentle, love her like no one ever has or ever will again, no one but him. But the other part, the man in him, the animal in him needs to be hard, brutal, take what he has wanted for years. The softness will come, he gathers, when they get into the bed. The one that fate dictates they will share. Now, though, with her on the shaky table, he thrusts at a punishing speed and hits his pelvis against her with every breath he takes. "Mine," he spits.

"Yes! Harder, El. Oh, fuck, son of a bitch," she mumbles, her head drops against the wall behind her. She hears the thudding of the end table hitting the plaster, and briefly, she wonders if the two detectives in the next room are still awake. If they are, they can hear this, but she doesn't care.

"Fucking say it," he hisses at her, tugging her hair and pulling her head up. "Say it."

"Yours," she gasps, feeling every inch of him sink into her. "All yours. Yes, Elliot!" she cries, her arms above her head searching for something to grip but nothing is there but the wall sconce. Both hands wind around the gold-plated tin, and she holds on tight.

He chuckles again, her bouncing breasts and beaded nipples now in clear view, and he bends his head.

"Mother fucker," she seethes, then looks down at his mouth closed around her right nub. She curses, whines, and then she moans his name in a way that no one ever has.

Coming from her, it's every fantasy he's ever had come to life and he yanks on her hair again. "Mine," he nods, and then he bites the top of her left breast, making her whimper but making her tighten around him, too. He doesn't know how he knows she's like this, he doesn't know how he knows she won't mind his biting, but it only proves he knows her, really knows her.

Now he knows her in the only way he lacked. "Fuck," he mumbles. Her clenching and wettening alerts him that she's close, and he needs to hang on for just a little while longer. Then it hits him. "Liv, where...I'm not...I have to…"

"In me," she says, her voice dark and filled with certainty. "Oh, God, Elliot," she moans as her jaw tightens, and she feels him grab her as the table breaks beneath her.

"Hmmm, got you," he groans and grunts, and he slams into her over and over again.

Her legs stiffen, her hands ball into fists, and the light is yanked from the wall. She screams his name, she growls, and it scares her because she has never been a vocal woman, but for him she can't shut up. "Fuck, yes, Elliot!" she shouts, her head thrashing, her body sucking him so deeply into her.

He grunts, he curses, he makes a gurgling noise and then he shoots off into her, and he's almost positive that he has died.

She can't move. For the first time in her life she enjoyed sex with every fiber of her being, physically and emotionally satisfied by it, by him. She has thrown herself into it so much that she's gone numb. Her chest heaves as she breathes, he drops his head into her shoulder.

"That," he says, "Was fucking fantastic." He looks at her, then at the clock on the lopsided table beside her. "We have plenty of time for round two," he says, a suggestive tone in his voice, a smirk on his face. "Just...gimme a minute."

"Oh," she breathes, her hand slipping over his ass and squeezing. "Take your time. I can't even remember my own name right now."

He scoffs and grins and he kisses her. "I fucked you stupid," he claims proudly. "First time at bat, and I hit a home run."

She smiles as her eyes close and her head drops to the side. She caresses his ass again, then moves her hips earning a hiss from him. "Table," she mumbles. "Not comfortable."

He lifts her and drops her to the bed, staying on her, staying in her. He knows he fucked up on so many levels, but for the first time in his life he's being selfish. He's following his heart, and he's doing what he wants with whom he wants, and he doesn't give a shit about the consequences. He looks at her, sees the same confusion and resolution in her eyes. He smirks down at her and thrusts into her once, bringing her back into the moment. Because when you're selfish, the moment is all that matters.

**A/N: Review? Or am I being Selfish? **


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